Understanding is a Sin
by Lady DV of the MHS
Summary: What is love? Is it flesh, is it spirit, or is it something very similar to a melody? Slash ErikRaoul M to be safe
1. You There on the Bridge

Lady DV: For those of you who wonder "DV" stands for Devon Valentino and no I am not male. Well let's start anew with this. I hope it is to your liking.

Disclaimer: I own nothing…save perhaps a most twisted mind...and even that is not all mine…it belongs to the characters who often invade it…

_Do you understand the meaning of what it is to believe_? The voice soft and deep and taunting flitted over the sensitive skin of Raoul's neck. Everything around him spun in hues of colors deep and beautiful. The voice seemed not to come from anywhere in particular. Yet, it seemed to come from everywhere around him…it filled his senses. It challenged. I will loose my mind, thought the blond satyr, and then I will be free. The voice returned, gentler and more haunting…a melody…the vibrations of piano strings. Beauty.

Eyes light and youthful opened wide. Silence. The only sound in the Vicomte's room was the soft stirring breeze outside his balcony windows and his own strained breathing. He no longer remembered the real happenings from his nightmare…but how could it be a nightmare…when he woke feeling so pleasantly warm and expectant. As though the person from said dreams would walk through the doors of his rooms and hold him in a warm embrace. He would be joyous…ecstasy would fill his mind. These things seemed obvious. What was not obvious, however, was who the mysterious stranger from his dreams was. Who could it be? This being, that infiltrated and caressed and loved. Raoul distressed over the thoughts that flooded his mind and somewhere along the way his exhaustion took over and his mind shut down. But, in that moment between sleep and awake. The moment when all dreams slide against the skin soft as silk and yet have no hold. He heard it, the melody, he felt it, the warmth, he grasped it, and to his surprise it wore a porcelain mask. Sleep.

-----------------

A sigh escaped the man commonly known as the Phantom of the Opera. He stirred in his crimson bed of silk, his eyes opened dark and intense. Christine is gone, he thought as he lay drowning in the feeling of the softness against his bare skin. She had denied him her love; she had, however, also denied the Vicomte her love. W_hy_, he wondered. A voice nagging and sleepy answered. _Because she was just a child believe it or not, a child with childish infatuations thinking fickle thoughts. That is all. She knows nothing of love. You know nothing of it either so who are you to judge. That is how the world works. Without regard for personal feelings or beliefs- _His thoughts were interrupted as a gentle voice called out to him.

"Erik, you must seize these foolish antics at once!" The voice of Madame Giry came from the entrance of his lair as scolding and loving as a mother's. " Christine left nearly a year ago and the Opera has not only been rebuilt it has been expanded and now has a bigger audience than ever. If anything you should be happy!"

"I realize all these things are true. But I cannot understand why…I will not write another word for an audience and shall not sing another note for my ears or that of others until I understand why. That is all Madame. You cannot persuade me otherwise." Erik's voice was soft as he stood out of his sea of crimson, exposing his naked body to the cold moist air of the caverns.

"Erik, you shall contract pneumonia if you continue these things." Madame Giry said, not at all flustered by the nakedness of the Phantom. She simply looked around until she found Erik a suit of black velvet making sure it was clean and stitched before helping him into it." You are worse these days than when I found you. I mean, you ate little before and now you eat less, you hardly ever leave this room, and you don't even bother with the cleanliness of your own quarters." Ah, a mother indeed.

An hour later Erik sat in silence surrounded by a clean and dust free room, food lay in plentiful amounts on a table, and five new sets of clothes were being put into his wardrobe. Madame Giry kissed his forehead with gentility before explaining that he was to eat at least half of what was before him and he was to maintain his room mostly in order. She would check these things when she returned.

"I will come back in the morning my child." The lady smiled then, left the room without a trace wandering into the chaos of the Opera Populaire. A nod was her only acknowledgement for The Phantom of the Opera was already lost in his thoughts about love and life whilst picking at his food with a frown.

--------------------

The Vicomte walked out of his carriage in silence holding the long, thick scarf around his neck all the closer as a wind picked up the snow, swirling it around him. He turned nodding to his driver that the carriage was no longer needed and that he may leave to a warmer place. Then, with a toss of his blonde locks, Raoul walked up the steps into the Opera Populaire. He had dreamt of that voice once again, he knew. It was the nagging at the back of his mind that told him, that and the goose bumps he got when he heard the rush of the many actors and dancers backstage.

Voices greeted him and invitations were open from more than one of the lady dancers. Some of the men threw flirtatious glances at him as well; with a shy slump in his walk and cautious smiles at some of the members of the cast Raoul made his way to Christine's old room. This was his resident room when in the Opera. Though the managers had insisted in him taking another room, any room, he had said this was the one he wanted. They of course had complied thinking it wiser to stay on the Vicomte's good side. Here, Raoul hoped, he could overcome his loss for Christine and perhaps come to terms with his nagging dreams. He stood in the center of the room remembering the first time he had entered it.

He had been amazed with the color and the smell. It had not been Christine that had been his impulse to speak and tell of all the childhood nothings. It had been the very presence of the room. The feeling of something other than his childhood friend, it had been the lingering of a scent, the echo of a note long ended. _Angel._ He thought as he stood silently in the room. Then, with a small sigh he began to undress.

What had Christine meant when she called the man behind the mask such? A thick velvet coat fell to his feet. The man had been his rival last time he had given him any deep thought. His voice had been beautiful, the touch of his skin had made Raoul heat up in all of the oddest places, and he had wanted the Phantom to get closer…to touch him. Unconsciously a hand made its way down Raoul's side. The soft peachy skin of his palm slid under a shirt and hung restlessly at a waistband before a groan left slightly parted coral lips.

"Phantom."

----------------------

Sounds above…odd sounds…an unfamiliar sound…in _HER_ room. Why? Erik let rage bubble up within him. Who dared enter such a sacred place? They would not leave unscathed. With an angry scowl he adjusted the porcelain mask that had been placed delicately over his face. He ran angrily through the caverns he knew so well moving the right stone here and the right candle there. Slowly he approached the old mirror he would not have dared come within ten feet of for any other reason. He was close enough to see those within but, to be hidden by shadows and soft candlelight. The Vicomte? The boy groaned flitting a hand over his own stomach, his chest, his…oh my…Erik's eyes widened. _What is he doing?!? _Erik's thoughts raised and his eyes widened as blood reached his cheeks.

This was something completely new to him. This carnal pleasure. A groan escaped the radiant blonde as he leaned heavy on a table that had once held roses just as beautiful as his reddened cheeks. He held the most private part of his anatomy and rocked heavily on the hand that held him. A moan and a name escaped him as he released.

"Phantom."

Erik felt his cheeks flush and blood rush to his nether region. This was an aspect of love he had not thought of yet. He should analyze closer. Yes. That was what he would do. Analyze. For the sake of his Opera he would learn…

To Be Continued…eventually…

Lady DV: How do you all like it? I thought this was a good place to start, mostly since we are lacking wondrous POTO fanfic's. Well read and review for the sake of my ego or my non-ego please!


	2. Where Have You Been?

Lady DV: Someone asked what happened to Christine and that will be made clear a little later. Sorry, but I enjoy watching my sister squirm when I neglect her need to know every little detail about everything she comes across. I am an evil imoto-chan! Fear me…rawr.

Disclaimer: I DON'T OWN THIS…or you… thus you have nothing to fear!

A look of something that much resembled shame found its way to Raoul's flushed cheeks as he cleaned himself off. He suddenly felt quite exposed, as though someone had been watching the rapturous scene unfold. He slid on his nightclothes wondering why he felt so…oh there was no word to describe the mixture of feelings inside of him. He suddenly felt slightly nauseated as it all rushed to him. Then, with a small sigh of resignation he let his sated body sink into a canopy bed that had been placed in the room for his convenience. The darkness of the Opera Populaire's comfortable atmosphere closed in around him and he fell away into the haunting dreams that he both loathed and loved so. The last thought that crossed his mind was: _Will I dream of you tonight...my Angel,_ this thought never registered in his mind however, and he drifted peacefully into a dreamland of ecstasy

_------------_

The nights seemed short and the days long for both the Phantom and Raoul. Erik, confined to his room for most of the day due to the excitement about the Opera, went out nightly to observe the Vicomte and to check the changes going about to ready the Opera Populaire for the Christmas masquerade that was to take place. Raoul spent his days overseeing the many dances and preparations for the same masquerade. The nights for the Vicomte were filled with the self-pleasure he could give and the many rather…naughty…thoughts that came with them. Erik enjoyed watching the scene unfold night after night and each night the Vicomte became more passionate in his mantras devoted to Erik himself.

The Masquerade was but three days away when finally the strain broke through the Vicomte's self-control. The lustful thoughts that haunted him day and night with the added strain of what seemed to be the whole Opera needing his approval was not a good combination. In the end he ran with the speed of a man hunted; he ran as fast and as deep into the Opera as he could. Before he knew it he was quite lost in the endless labyrinth that was the Opera Populaire. He looked around and around what seemed to be a small chapel, confused with the unknown place. Raoul could not say he remembered this specific part of the Opera being present but, he had not explored the rather large building entirely. In the darkness of the small area the world seemed to melt away and the lively atmosphere that was found above or perhaps to one side seemed dead. The only truly _alive_ substance here seemed to be the thick dust that swirled as if in a dance when Raoul moved or when a lost draft blew along the ground.

"Who is the solitary sheep long absent from the flock?" Came a melodious voice from the shadows.

Raoul turned slowly as something much like anticipation formed a shudder down his spine. Dust stirred around him and a rustle of clothing soon followed. The sounds mysterious and appealing seemed to swallow his consciousness. _Phantom…_

---------------------

Erik had been sitting in the comforting atmosphere of the chapel for sometime contemplating what it was about the Vicomte that kept him returning every night. What was it that had attracted him to Christine? _Innocence._ The familiar voice in his head responded. Then, that was what kept him retracing his steps toward the Vicomte. _Innocence._ He possessed it in a slightly different way than Christine. His was both a worldly and spiritual innocence. An innocence to the evils found in one place or one thing and all those things that could cause true harm.

It was then that the footsteps had awakened him from the soft linens of his mind's bed. Desperate footsteps. Soft footsteps. Erik slid away, blending perfectly into the shadows he so adored and loathed. And who would he witness standing there but the object of his analysis, standing in such a becoming confused innocence that Erik simply wanted to give way to his impulse and slide a hand over the boys cheek. To _caress_ and to _smell_ and to _feel_.

The Phantom of the Opera allowed his voice to slide past his lips and then moved so it was harder to trace where he was. The boy stiffened and turned around; then, shuddered as if the cool air around the Chapel had finally penetrated the many layers of clothing he was wearing. Unable to resist his more mischievous and childish side Erik decided to have a bit of fun. He slid close to Raoul just to feel him stiffen. Then, standing behind him, Erik allowed his long fingers to grasp a light scarf and tugged it away from its unsuspecting owner. A small gasp escaped the Vicomte as, from the overwhelming darkness, a pair of fingers as cool as the air blowing slid across his neck and removed a pale yellow scarf with a tug. A small chuckle escaped Erik at the response he got from the Vicomte. He had to admit that he enjoyed receiving these odd noises and shudders.

"Vicomte…what business have you so deep in my domain?" Erik asked gently as if talking to a lover. He slid close once more and allowed his arms to go past Raoul's shoulders. Standing behind the slightly smaller man Erik simply let his arms hang in the air a centimeter or so above the shoulders that seemed almost impossibly small in the dark; their bodies close enough to feel the heat that Raoul emanated. "You are cold. Your scarf my dear Vicomte." Erik smiled to himself as Raoul shuddered emitting a small whimper as arms returned to his neck and slid a scarf into place. Then, those arms disappeared all together.

-----------------

Raoul was not afraid. _No_, he was terrified. Everything around him revolved as the very _essence_ of the man he had idolized in his dreams slid over his skin. The smell was intoxicating and the voice hypnotic. '_He is playing with me_', thought Raoul shuddering again. He couldn't speak…no…he wouldn't speak. His mind was not working in coherence with his body however, and a single word slipped past his trembling lips.

"Phantom." His voice sounded weak and it trembled slightly with the cold Raoul felt colliding with his body. He needed the voice again; he needed it to say anything.

The Phantom's presence had been slowly disappearing and the rustling of clothing that had accompanied his swift escape suddenly seized. Raoul felt the change in the other man when the word left his mouth. A tensing. Anger. Then, a passive sigh.

"Erik" Responded the dark being with the same beautiful voice. Yet, the voice had been playful, almost light before was now…well…it held the dark brooding that Raoul had come to know when the incident with Christine came to pass. There seemed something wrong with hearing that tone again. As if somehow it did not belong to the Phantom anymore.

"Erik." Raoul murmured unaware that the man was long absent from the area. He looked around confused once more as to where he was. The confusion came when he thought about how he was to find his way back into the Opera's main floor. '_He could have at least told me how to get out...the inconsiderate-_' Raoul's thoughts were cut off by the soft voice of the Phantom-no-Erik reaching his ears. He could barely hear the melodic quality of the voice now but he made out the words.

----------

"Try the stairs. To your left." Said Erik softly then he disappeared all together not wanting to watch the retreating figure of the boy leave him alone once more, in this darkness. The feeling of warmth coming from another being was definitely something that Erik enjoyed to feel and he did not care to deny this truth from himself. Christine had been soft and pliant and so very warm. This boy…no this man, The Vicomte de Chagny, was not soft or pliant. He was strong beneath the clothes and rigid, as if he would always have his way, but he was warm. So warm it bordered on feverish. But, it felt so good to one who was confined to the cold underground of the Opera.

----------

Raoul found the stairs without injury and cautiously made his way up them wondering what would become of this whole encounter.

"Erik" He repeated to himself.

"Where did you hear that name Vicomte?" Came the feminine voice of Madame Giry urgently through the darkness. Raoul in took a deep breath and slowly released it as fear diminished in his system. Then, Raoul looked up at the candle lit face of the woman.

"The shadows told me." Was all that he could think to say.

--------

Lady DV: Well what do you all think? I hope it wasn't disappointing…and I apologize it takes me ages to update…I just have no inspiration these days. I'll work around it. I bow to you few who have reviewed. It is for you that I continue on. R&R!

Random fact of the day: VOLTAIRE IS A WONDERFUL BAND THAT RELEASED A CD WITH THE TITLE "ALMOST HUMAN"!(I luv the band…and I luv the singer…voice like the angels…)


	3. What's Your Name?

Lady Dv: I noticed that I had not added any of my random awsomeness (cough) in this chapter so I decided to update the whole story and fix what I thought was wrong…OCD…it's a curse and a blessing.

Disclaimer: You can have all the fun you want and nothing bad will ever happen…because I own nothing.

------------

Madame Giry looked at the Vicomte for a long time before promptly deciding he had some kind of fever. Then, taking his hand began leading him in the general direction of the blonde man's room. Raoul was dazed as he walked thinking of those silky arms so close. So many things ran through his mind quite suddenly. Things he could have said. Witty things, lovely things, serious things. Things he could have done. Things both slow and fast. Yet, all hat prevailed through his thoughts was the voice and that voice said a single word, "Erik"

---------------------------

It so happened that Madame Giry's maternal instincts were well placed for in the next three days Raoul caught a terrible cold. At first it came with sneezing and quite a bit of…for lack of better word, mucus. Then, came the coughing fits and the terrible wheezing. Breathing was difficult, standing was difficult, and staying awake was difficult. Then, the fever hit. It was both hot and cold. The heat of Raoul's skin burnt him and yet the cold of the rooms froze him. And all through these four or five days only one thing flitted through the hardly conscious mind of the Vicomte. _Erik…Phantom…Angel…Beautiful._

On the sixth day of the racking illness Giry could take it no longer and without the Vicomte's approval she called upon the best physician in town. The doctor, an elderly gentleman with kind hands and a serious face, approached the bed with a furrow of the brow and then began his many ministrations. He took a pulse, then listened to the chest of the feverish young man, and finally he turned to look at Giry with an odd look on his face.

"It appears that the Vicomte has contracted some form on pneumonia…I am not sure what to say…give him the regular treatments…and pray that he will continue breathing through the night." With this and a sad glance at the boy the Physician took his pay and left.

Raoul did not have the strength to open his eyes when he heard the man enter the room. Nor had he had this same strength when the checkup was happening. Yet, when the medicine man had given his verdict fear had arisen and tears came through the heaviness of the illness. His wheezing became faster, frightened. _Terror_. _Christine._ His eyes, already shut, tightened and his knuckles turned white on the sheets. That was the fiend that had promptly ridded Raoul of his lifelong friend.

Pneumonia. The two had had it as kids but a lighter less painful version of the illness. The doctors had always warned that the virus was in their bodies to stay and that without attentive care it could take their lives. _Christine._ Her voice and her touch so friendly. All gone. But that really wasn't what frightened him. What really frightened him was the possibility that he could be…gone too…all because of this virus. _Fear_. _Longing_. _ERIK!_

------------------

The name pushed upon him so many times in the past rang through the levels of his consciousness. Those slightly parted, delicate lips letting it slip and making it sound disgustingly foul, like a profanity. _Phantom_. Erik grimaced as he lay, fully dressed, arms folded over his stomach, and glowering upon his bed of crimson silk. _Phantom._ For the past week or so he had found himself in his lair sulking…no…brooding over the Vicomte's usage of the hated nickname, that had been established long before he had appeared on scene. Coming from those lips it was a sacrilege. And the skin how sweet it smelled. Roses and masculinity. How soft the neck and cheek. How warm the skin.

' _I must see him_,' He thought,' _See him or risk the pitifully small remnants of what I once called sanity_.' He rose and picked up a velvet coat from the floor dusting it off before slipping into it carelessly. An easy stride was established toward the fist place that came to mind. The Vicomte's room. His room. _How quick you are to change your mind _came that old taunting voice, _A bit less than 14 moon settings prior you would have called it HER room. _

Erik scowled at those thoughts and continued his walk with more conviction until he reached the mirror of a familiar room. There lay the Vicomte, pale and sickly. Those lips parted in a ragged breathing motion; chest rising and falling irregularly beneath the soft canopy of a man's dressing gown. Madame Giry, who had been caring for both the sickly Vicomte and the rather bratty, sulking Phantom, gently pressed a cool cloth, wet with herbal waters, to the blonde's forehead. A whimper and painful wheezing was his only complaint in his unconscious state.

"Vicomte…" Came a whisper from Erik. A whisper that never registered in his mind. Giry's eyes rose slowly to the familiar mirror of the room and lingered there, if only for a moment. Then, she stood slipping her hand from were she had been holding the Vicomte's. She locked the door slipping the key into her front pocket before sliding gracefully back into her chair beside the young man.

"You should enter if you wish to see him Erik. You are no Rat." Came Giry's voice.

Erik was taken back by the comment but, given permission, moved the mirror and entered the room silently. His gaze never left the satyr lying pale as the pillows around him. The sweat of fever plastering usually playful hair to the boy's forehead.

"Vicomte…" Erik repeated. Then, he turned with a questioning look to Madame Giry; a perfect image of a child in need of a parent's guidance.

"Pneumonia, Erik." She murmured as she continued the cold compress. " He had it in his blood and it finally arose to haunt him."

"Pneumonia…" Murmured Erik and inwardly cursed. _That treacherous worm…taking everyone he cared for and everyone he…_ A silence prevailed throughout the room. A strained silence. The silence of foes brought together…or of lovers contained.

"His name is Raoul by the way, Erik, and I doubt he will appreciate you calling him by his title when you have allowed him to drop yours." Murmured Madame Giry with a motherly voice.

"How…" Erik's eyes widened and he gaped slightly at the woman who was calmly taking a pulse.

"I am all knowing dearest Erik. That is how." Came his simple answer.

He nodded numbly looking sheepish and not at all knowing how to verbally respond to such a comment. Giry smiled a little and stood placing a hand on Erik's unscarred cheek then, patting it fondly she picked up the basin full of water and placed the cotton cloth into it.

" Look after him for a moment. I am in need of fresh water." She said and before receiving an answer she walked out of the room, making sure to lock the door behind her.

Erik stood gaping for a long moment before sinking into the empty chair left behind by Giry with an unhappy tensing in his shoulders. Raoul's hand lay but inches from his and he felt the feverish heat radiating from it. Erik's brow furrowed as the heated skin of the blonde's hand grasped his suddenly; weakly seeking out comfort and cooler skin, even through his unconscious state. Yet, he couldn't find it in himself to pull away. He did not grip the hand back as he was, afraid he would hurt the very fragile looking man. But, he began rubbing his thumb over the back of Raoul's hand. He couldn't help it…it was just so soft…so inviting.

"Erik," His name came weakly from between the admired lips and a heated hand tightened a little on his. For even in his feverish state, the young man dreamt of his Phantom, his Obsession, and his Erik. Erik did not know what to say yet following an odd impulse he whispered a tentative:

"I am here."

The blonde man on the bed seemed to relax then. Quite suddenly a sigh and a smile, small and innocent, appeared on pale as sugar features.

"Erik"

The man whose name has been called once more relaxed and he then griped a hand gently. The lips pressed softly into a smile are too tempting at that moment and before thinking rationally Erik leaned forward and grasped the boy's shoulders between his hands. Lips met and the fever coursing through Raoul made Erik gasp, and then tighten his hold on the boy's shoulders. Unconsciously Raoul's arms wrapped languidly around Erik's shoulders and Erik took this moment to slide his tongue over feverish lips. Simply to taste…and to feel. A click threatened discovery and Erik released his hold prying arms from his shoulders and sitting as Giry came in balancing the basin of water on her hip. Raoul seemed to sigh happily, lips slightly parted.

"What have you done?" She asked with a shocked look.

Erik felt himself flush and look extremely embarrassed.

"His breathing seems much more regular." She continued after examining Raoul.

"Oh…" Erik looked slightly confused, " I had not noticed…"

"Well, perhaps that is because you haven't been here for as long as I have."

Erik nodded his acknowledgement the moved out of the way and into a corner of the room that was overrun by shadows. This out of habit more than anything else. He needed to understand. So, he would sit here until the morning and hope that …_Raoul…_ would awaken. He needed to know these passions. Where they would lead him and why and how.

Lady Dv: Yes this is it. Also I love you lovely people who review. Those of you who add me to the story alerts list but don't review…well…I appreciate the alert bit…but I need reviews…for motivation if you will. I love you all! R&R!

Random Fact Of The Day: Nikki Sixx of Motley Crue was pronounced dead after overdosing on heroine in his youth. Two minutes later he was brought back to life with two shots of adrenaline into the heart.


	4. And You There On the Wall

Dv: I died for a while there…DAMN YOU FLU DEVIL

Dv: I died for a while there…DAMN YOU FLU DEVIL!! 0 Anyway I finally got to posting this chapter…which has been finished for quite a while now…I apologize…if any of you are actually reading this… meh…

Disclaimer: If I owned this there would be less Christine and more smut...

Although hope seemed to shine upon the pair confined to the darkness of a familiar room the gods above would have none of it. A day passed and then two and then three. By the fifth day Erik was quite ready to implode from the helpless feelings that rose as he sat unable to wake the sleeping blonde. Giry had managed to slip water in between the boy's lips and a bit of broth on occasion but overall sustenance hardly penetrated the boy. Raoul looked very thin…too thin, too pale, and too weak. Such a combination made it difficult for Erik to be so close and unable to touch…to feel or comfort. Yet, Erik was a headstrong man.

_I will stay in this room until the boy opens his eyes,_ He thought. _ And then what?_ Came the frustrating familiar voice of reason Erik hated so. He ignored the voice and turned his gaze to the figure lying fast asleep and stood with the inhuman grace that made him both enchanting and frightening. He stood over the boy and laid a hand over the slowly cooling skin of Raoul's forehead. The fever had broken the day before and yet no signs of true consciousness had presented themselves yet. _Awaken…AWAKEN!_

Raoul dreamt pleasantly of the Phantom…_Erik._ Hands touching and kisses pressed gently. And heat, so much heat. A hand pressed softy to his skin and it felt so very real and so very pleasant. _Erik_. Hips rocking in a primal dance and gasps and whispers only adding to the heat. He did not want to awaken. Never. In this dream world Erik was his and he was Erik's, nothing else mattered. Consciousness meant having to face reality. Reality meant pain and emptiness. A small groan escaped his pale lips and suddenly he felt his hips jerk in necessity. _ERIK!_

The usually serious and brooding man known as the phantom of the Opera stood feet away from the once feverish young man, his cheeks tinted a deep crimson. The man in the bed struggled under the covers and writhed whilst allowing a string of incoherent words, moans, and groans escape his lips. His hips moved suggestive of what his mind was being plagued with and Erik had to turn away as his body was beginning to respond quite strongly to all of this. A much louder groan escaped the boy under the covers and then there was a heavy silence. Erik turned to look at the boy from his sanctuary amongst the shadows to which he had retreated with his hands over his ears.

There lay the Vicomte. His eyes opened wide and his uneven breathing filling the room with too much noise suddenly. The blonde's hair was out and tangled and messy; hands were white at knuckles as sheets were gripped tight enough to hurt. Raoul's eyes were unfocused as he looked around the room.

"Erik…" His voice sleep raspy and soft. Aching muscles made moving hard as Raoul slowly sat up in the bed. His mind still lay on the erotic nature of the dream he had just had. It had been so real. That skin and those lips…

_I must leave before he becomes aware of me!_ Thought Erik with a look of panic as he noticed his manhood had come quite alive. Swiftly he moved toward the mirror and without turning to see if the Vicomte had decided to stand he moved the mirror and slipped in.

Raoul noticed a rustling in a corner of the room that the few scattered candles did not light. A scrapping noise echoed about the room as though something was being dragged and Raoul suddenly caught the sight of a retreating figure's clothing. 

"Erik?" His voice was filled with confusion as he slowly started to raise himself off the bed. After about two weeks of lying in bed Raoul's muscles would not respond and he found himself falling back into the cotton sheets. Had he been hallucinating? Just another product of his extensive illness?

Perhaps…but what if he hadn't been imagining the presence of the Phantom? Then, that would mean…Raoul's cheeks turn the color of freshly picked tomatoes as his mind registered what might have happened. If Erik had seen him dreaming would he know it was he who had caused such passion to arise in Raoul? He hoped not. How could he face the man if he knew such a dark and secret part of him? Raoul allowed himself to sigh loudly as a small click followed by a tray balancing Giry appeared.

"Children I brought you something to eat and-" Madame Giry stopped as she noticed the absence of the Phantom and the conscious Vicomte de Changy " Oh ...Raoul you are awake. That is good, you've been absent from us living folk for almost two weeks."

"Children? Was there someone else with me here Madame" asked Raoul turning to face her with a look of feigned innocence.

"Of course! My daughter was in here earlier as I could not be. I did not know she had left." Giry lied easily; experience throughout the years during her cover-ups for Erik had done her that much good at least.

"I see." Raoul said not doubting her for a minute and disappointment flashed across his face. He had wanted to think that Erik cared. Even if it meant that he had seen him in the throes of lurid passion. _Phantom...Angel…Erik…_

Erik ran as fast and as clumsily as he had ever done. HE nearly fell into the water that surrounded his underground home as his attempt to return to his bed and hide his shame became extreme. Raoul's dream had involved him as all of those nights of passion had. Yet, being so close to the boy and seeing him truly give himself over to such a heated moment made everything more difficult. His arousal was painful beneath the fabric of his clothing and when he finally arrived at his bed he collapsed into it struggling to remove his clothing as fast as he could.

He had not understood why Raoul had so desperately touched himself. Why the boy had seemed to deem it necessary to abuse his body every night with thoughts of Erik and caresses. Now it all made sense. It was simple. It was deep. It was purely carnal. Erik slid a hand impatiently into the front of his pants stroking a part of his body he never thought he would.

It was pure ecstasy in every sense of the word. Shocks of pleasure exploded from within him making the world's edges loose their intensity and for a few moments nothing mattered. Yet, his inexperience with other men left him empty as to imagining acts of pleasure between himself and the object of his affection. _Raoul…_ he thought his mind finding the images of the boy writhing beneath bed covers. His hips moving in such a suggestive way.

"VICOMTE!" A loud gasp escaped Erik as his release hit him hard and fast. It had been much too long since he had last done such an electrifying thing.

Loud gasps echoed throughout the cavern walls and suddenly Erik found he was very tired. Ignoring the dirty linen he lay on, he tugged the covers around himself and closed his eyes. Raoul was so beautiful. HE smelled so sweet. _HE must belong to me…only me forever and eternity…he will be my guiding light…in the chaos of this melody…_ with these thoughts Erik slowly drifted off into the sand lands of the dreamers left sated.

DV: People!! I love you all fro adding me to your alerts list but alas I cannot continue writing without feedback…. let's put it this way…If you want your sex scene ya'll better cough up at least…7 reviews! I AM EBIL!! Sorry it's just...I need to know if you can give me some input on how to better the story! Also I am taking requests! Send me parings, descriptions, scenes and the likes and I will write for you o the best of my ability. I love you all dearly! Adieu

_RANDOM FACT OF THE DAY!!: I am a proud Kisame fangirl and will eat your soul if you scorn him!! Fishy face is love!! /_


	5. Where Will You Go To?

It seemed the days grew longer and more tedious as Raoul's health and strength returned to him

DV: Hello again! Well, I got seven reviews…with difficulty…no love man. Oh well! I'm giving you something here...and it's longer! GO ME!

Disclaimer: I don't own this, or you, or anything really, except for a very demented nee-chan and a paranoid mental status.

It seemed the days grew longer and more tedious as Raoul's health and strength returned to him. He missed the ecstatic energy that surrounded him as the Opera set into motion every morning and the slowly retreating silence of the same Opera going into a deep slumber for the few hours it was allowed. Most of all he missed the exhilaration of knowing that the man of his nightmares and of his hopes might very well be around the corner at any moment.

The steam of heated water rose off of a bathtub that was placed in a corner of the room and the scent of warm water and boiled herbs flooded Raoul's senses making him groggy. Blonde hair spilled over light colored eyes as the sound of moving wood alerted Raoul of Giry's return. His head turned slightly to gaze in her general direction before he moved onto his side and leaning on the palm of his hand blew the hair from his eyes.

"Afternoon, my young Vicomte." She said brightly as she set down a basin of water and a small knife on a bedside table and wiped the hair from Raoul's face.

"Afternoon mother." Murmured Raoul. He had begun to call her mother in a teasing tone as she acted quite as his mother but it soon became a habit rather than a way to tease the woman. It didn't seem to bother her in the least and the feeling of having a mother figure comforted Raoul as he was far from the other Changys.

The same process of every other day began as Giry helped Raoul sit up then, with gentility, removed his nightclothes and helped him into a bathtub that had been brought into the room for his convenience. Each day it was becoming easier to do this as the sleeping muscles of Raoul's body slowly regained full consciousness.

Honey tresses where washed and milky skin scrubbed clean of anything potentially dirty. Then, a clean, warm, midnight blue nightgown was donned and lengthy hair was both brushed and tied with a white ribbon. Giry smiled at her handy work as she sat Raoul into a chair in front of the vanity mirror. She wasn't finished though and with great care she took the knife to the rough facial hair that had been growing in the past few days.

Raoul sat and waited as Giry changed sweat soiled sheets and applied the freshly washed ones she had brought in earlier that morning. Then, he was led back onto the bed. Giry pet his hair fondly and picking up her utensils made her way out of the room. At the door she turned to inform the young man that she would return with dinner and to collect the dirty water after the dance rehearsal of the young female dancers.

A nod and a sigh where her only answer as the Vicomte lay back into his covers and fell into the thoughts his obsession. _Darkness. Insanity. Melody. Erik…_

Erik lay on his stomach in the seeming endless crimson sea. His eyes were closed and his breathing regulated in sleep. Around him scattered pages of musical notes, poetry, plays. All newly written. Some with the ink still drying or smeared from being thrown while still drying. A groan escaped the parted lips of the man in the bed and with a sigh he reached out in the semi-darkness for the porcelain mask, he placed it over his face and sat up swaying slightly. Erik's eyes were unfocused as he rubbed the sleep from them. Another dream of him. The Vicomte. _The Innocent. The Beautiful. The Erotic._

Ever since the night of Raoul's awakening Erik had had the same reoccurring dream of the smaller man writhing in bed with his arms round Erik and the pleasure intensified too such a point that Erik thought that his mind would implode. A grimace became visible as his body began to respond to the thoughts plaguing him. He allowed himself to fall backwards into the silk and his hair fell in a great and terrible mess around him. Not in tangles, no, but, in an appealing and beautiful mess of raven locks. Dark eyes half lidded as he returned his thoughts to a cleaner and more complex section of his mind.

The notes and words had all come so freely from him since the night he had...well… indulged in his own pleasures. Yet, everything he wrote ended in the same thought. Raoul. He needed perfection. He needed affection. He needed the boy. NOW. A look of decisiveness fell over his features and Erik stood grimacing slightly at the bitter cold that hit his body. Usually the heat of the very many candles burning so close to one another provided more warmth but the only candles burning were beside the large musical organ he so treasured.

Clothing was thrown on hastily and Erik made his way with precise silence and a deliberate slow pace to where he knew Raoul would lie. His thoughts raced. From embarrassment more than anything else Erik had not allowed himself to return to the scene of the erotic pleasure Raoul had displayed. Had not allowed himself the pleasure of even watching the boy he so adored. He knew it now. It was not so analytical anymore. He was sure. He knew how much he must have the boy. A need.

Erik knew of need. He knew of the many things that one could need and be denied. But, he did not know that he could be the one to be the wall between what he needed and himself. He had suffered from being denied many things. But, he would not deny himself this one thing. Not the boy. Not HIS Vicomte.

The mirror came into view and without visible hesitation he strode toward it and silently, as to not alert the one beyond, he moved the reflective surface. Beyond he could see Raoul. The younger man lay against two pillows with his eyes half lidded and sleepy. His hair shone and the slightly harder light of the oil lamp that was hung from a hook by the door illuminated his pale skin giving it an odd preternatural glow.

Raoul's head was to one side revealing his neck to Erik in its entirety. It was such an innocent gesture that many did when asleep or relaxing. Yet, with Raoul, it seemed so sensual and so very irresistible. Erik slipped into the room, unnoticed, as his eyes wandered to Raoul's glazed gaze. The blonde watched the ceiling with this gaze. He watched as if the world's problems could be solved in its blank face…as if he could have anything if he looked hard enough.

Erik smirked realizing that the Vicomte was in his own world. He would not notice if he was approached. HE was dreaming awake. Was he dreaming of Erik? The obsession dreaming of the one obsessed? With a smooth and soundless movement Erik slid a chair closer to the door leading into the room and then hesitantly stepped into the light toward Raoul.

He waited to be acknowledged patiently, if he was told to leave he would. The self-loathing and masochistic part of him wanted to be told to go. To leave. That all of the feeling Raoul apparently had for him was the blonde mocking him, for who could feel for someone such as him? But, he knew otherwise and that part of him was silenced by a louder part that screamed for the release it so wished. _Raoul…Vicomte…_

Raoul's half lidded gaze of relaxation became a forehead furrow of confusion and of deep thought. For suddenly, the aura of the figure he so idolized, seemed to materialize in his room. His gaze snapped with a quick and sudden movement as the rustle of clothing alerted him of another being in the room. The blonde's eyes met those of an amused looking Phantom, who stood with a smile grazing his features. Raoul suddenly felt the cool air of the room grow colder, or perhaps it was the adrenaline that coursed through his veins. HE was here. _ERIK…PHANTOM…_

" Good Evening." Came the smooth voice of the raven-haired man as he came closer to the bed Raoul occupied. Eyes widened at the voice and the sound of teeth chattering rang through the room.

"W-w-w-what...h-how…" Managed Raoul as he moved against the pillows pressing himself on them both in fear and in shock.

"The shadows led me here." Murmured Erik approaching the bed not unlike a panther stalking its prey.

Raoul gulped visibly but did not take his eyes off of Erik as the elder man approached the bed and slowly climbed onto it. The masked man crawled over the blonde slowly, thourouly enjoying the scene of the shivering Raoul's form.

"E-E-Erik?" A ragged whisper filled with anticipation and fear. Raoul's trembling lips opened once more to question Erik when the elder pounced. A panther through and through.

Lips met. Erik's where needy and dominating, immediately, as he tasted the lips that were undeniably Raoul. Summer and warmth and sweet pasties, _RAOUL…_The younger man did not know what to do. Pressed against a headboard of oak and with his lips pressed firmly to Erik. His mind shut down. Every dream, every fantasy, everything disappeared.

Erik removed his lips from Raoul's with difficulty biting into his own bottom lip with a furrowed brow. Perhaps Raoul did nto want him after all…perhaps…Erik moved roughly trying to get off of the bed quickly but just as he did two pale arms wrapped themselves around his own black clothed arm.

"Don't" The voice was ragged and pleading. Hunger was in the eyes of the younger mirroring those of the elder. Erik's eyes widened now and though he could think of nothing more to say he knew that there was some king of understanding established suddenly.

"I won't." A silent reply as Erik stood quickly. Raoul's face was helpless as he reached out to Erik with a look of anguish.

"W-wait," He said reaching out further and struggling to stand. But, just as he was about to speak again he saw Erik take a sturdy wooden chair and slip it into place between the door and the handle on the door. There would be no interruption. Erik turned slowly and a well-placed smirk followed as he took his time making his way back to the Vicomte's bed.

"I didn't" Murmured Erik softly into Raoul's ear as he leaned over the bed.

Dv: There ya' go! Seven more reviews and we really get it on! Por Qua'? Because I am Ice BITCH FEAR ME!! I love you! R&R for more smut!

Random fact of the Day: I am often referred to as Ice Bitch for I have a reputation of being cold toward people's problems! Yet, I am still the designated psychologist of the groups! Love My Family Of Fools! Still living, Moonshadow (or DV to You)


	6. Once You Fall

**Lady DV:** Well here you go. A little something for your troubles. I was thinking of a Death Note fanfic next. I'm working on that currently. Have fun!

**_To: Tied Dyed Trickster_**

I thank thee for thine bountiful harvest of the candied pansies for they have bestowed onto mine mind a wonderful dose of inspiration! Actually your review made my day man! Good job! It's people like you who make me wanna keep writing. So in honor of your greatness I dedicate this chapter to you! Luv for thee from me!

**Disclaimer:** I own NAZING!!

Lips met once more. This time more gently, more patiently. Erik's arms held his body up on either side if Raoul's flushed face; his legs on either side of curved hips in a straddle. And though he did not really touch the boy, Erik could feel the heat that radiated off of Raoul. It was no longer a feverish heat, just raw human heat. _Beautiful_. Raoul was delighted in every way; yet, he could not think of what to do but chastely return the kiss and enjoy the feelings he had previously only dreamt of.

Pale blond lashes lay on the soft skin of paler cheeks. Erik's hands explored the tresses of honey colored hair as he opened his eyes in a half lidded gaze to glance at Raoul. Raoul's eyes were shut; a look of relaxation and bliss lay soft. Oxygen suddenly pleaded entry and involuntarily the pair parted.

"E-Erik." Came the soft tenor as trembling fingers found their way upward toward the elder man's face. They were placed softly on either side and Raoul began tracing the contours of the face, eyes closed, memorizing the rise and fall with knitted eyebrows. "Erik." _Breathless. Excited. Ecstatic_. Porcelain cold and hard and smooth. So unlike the flesh.

Raoul opened his eyes grasping the infamous mask, the trademark of the Phantom of the Opera. Without it, the man sharing these caresses with Raoul would simply be Erik. He needed it to come off, he wanted to see the man, completely and utterly, see this man. Yet, the pleading, sorrow filled look his eyes met would not allow him to do so.

"Erik…" A pleading murmur to match the eyes of his partner. The dark angel of music turned for a moment, his eyes lost in thought; then, he reached behind Raoul, grasping the pale, milky skin at the nape of the younger man's neck and pulled him in. Erik lay himself fully on Raoul, kissing him passionately. Erik's kiss was not so innocent the second time around however. Not a simple touching of the lips. Instead, techniques he had learned from the streetwise women that had at one time or another sated his pleasures were set into motion.

Erik's tongue left his mouth tentatively to give a smooth, begging lick at the supple pink of Raoul's lips. Raoul felt a small shock course through him and a heat pool at his belly. A familiar and pleasant heat. Teeth gently nipped at a bottom lip.

"Raoul." A breathy voice asking admittance as teeth nipped just a little harder.

Raoul gasped softly, not daring to open the eyes he has shut closed in ecstasy and yet, opening his lips to Erik's questing tongue. A dark, almost crimson, shade of red dusted over pale features; a rather beautiful and alluring contrast to the pallid skin and honey colored hair. The raven-haired man's tongue slid past lips and teeth stopping as the smaller man's tongue moved shyly closer. A moment is left to taste and to test new ground. Then, a dance of dominance and submission.

Oxygen banged at the doors of consciousness and the darker haired man pants in the substance as he opens his mouth, silently urging Raoul to do the same. Breath is in taken in the same audible pants as the battle continues in mid air and the two press flush against each other. Creating the greatest nearness possible with their clothing between skins. Neither is willing to stop tasting the other and yet both hesitate in continuing caressing the other. _Dark and chocolate. Light and cream_. Raoul's eyes shut tighter, his brow furrowed as he grasped Erik's arms for the first time and as tightly as if it were the last. They parted grudgingly. Eyes met, clouded and unfocused.

"You are…so beautiful, Raoul." The whisper, much too loud, suddenly, filled Raoul with a sense of pride and warmth. He seemed to radiate it. He glowed with it.

"Not as much as you." A return whisper accompanied the blond man's hands as they caressed Erik's cheek with a look of content. Then, as if a spell as been broken, Erik stops all movements, instead lying stiffly.

A look of self consciousness passes over his features, bringing with it a look of despair, Erik looked away unwilling to meet the eyes of the beautiful man he wants so to claim as his own. What right had he to such a beautiful creature? Raoul's features, flushed and still tinted with the blush that invaded minutes previous, suddenly fill with concern. He reaches out slowly, wanting once again to feel the man under his fingertips and the warmth that said man brought to him. Pale hands take Erik's face between palms holding gently and barely moving save for thumbs that gently brush at the ends of coral lips.

As Raoul began to turn the scarred man's face to his own a pair of hands, rough and instrumentally calloused, gripped his wrists tightly. A wince is all that comes as a response from Raoul, but Erik did not turn even though he feels the wince beneath his fingers. It flies through his body imitating the vibration of his soul's trembling. Aggravating him as it makes him tremble as well. It is a sign of weakness. He is not weak. Not Erik. Not The Phantom of the Opera.

Unconsciously Erik grips pale wrists tighter making the pallid appearance more so as blood seizes to flow to the delicate hands. A small whimper alerted Erik of Raoul's pain. He turned his head sharply to look at the younger man, his face falling from anger to despair and then an uncontrollable shame. Raoul's eyes widen and fear burns bright yet he does not attempt to move away from Erik.

"Erik, what…what's wrong?" Strained breathing escaped Raoul as he struggled not to show his pain. Calloused hands dropped unexpectedly as the owner of said hands makes a hasty retreat away from the object of his affection. He could not be near the smaller man. He was dangerous to Raoul's health.

"I…I hurt you." Dark colored eyes cannot meet brighter ones as the retreat moves faster and with more clumsy movements. Erik stood moving farther into the shadows of the room. Allowing them to partially swallow him, familiarities making him feel calmer though his face remains the horrified look from before. Upon reaching a corner and feeling it solid behind him Erik slides slowly to the ground, hugging his knees closely to his chest to seize the trembling that has begun once again. His eyes are vacant, sorrowful, lost. Erik stared at the man he wanted to claim for his own, unwilling himself to forgive his own actions.

Raoul was leaning on an elbow with a look of both confusion and remorse as he wondered what he had done. His lips were slightly bruised as he panted out his breath in small puffs and his hair was messy. His nightgown disheveled, slipping from one shoulder, midnight blue revealing ivory skin with a taunting slip. Slowly, Raoul rose from the bed, holding on heavily to the wall beside it as his feet tested the ground he had stepped on so fleetingly these passed weeks. Then, as a toddler taking his fist steps, Raoul slowly began making his way toward the man he had been sharing a bed with moments before.

Erik sat with his knees drawn tight and held there by an even tighter grip of the arms. His ears, sensitive from years filled with the fear of discovery, immediately pick up the movement from Raoul. Yet, he denies himself the gesture of looking up to find out what is going on. Raoul meanwhile feels his strength slipping like sand through a sieve and a few feet from his goal it all comes tumbling down. Literally. Raoul fell, grasping outward for leverage, fingers finding Erik's knees and holding tightly. Erik willed himself to look up as he felt the hands at his knees. Erik looked up slowly to find Raoul half lying on the floor panting, exhausted yet with a look of complete determination on his face.

"E-Erik, I'm f-fine…come…back." Amidst pants from effort Raoul managed to relay his message, looking earnestly at the brooding man before him. Erik looked on past Raoul, toward something in his memories perhaps, for a while longer before shaking his head left and right.

"Are you not frightened? Of this…hideous creature of the dark…these blood stained hands…hurting you…" Erik trailed off a haunted look dancing over his features as a few stray hairs from his usually impeccable ponytail fall over his face.

"No." Murmured Raoul simply as his hands, trembling from the effort, reached toward Erik. The Phantom did not look at him but he felt arms wrap around him, the warmth of another being. Erik relaxed tensing muscles suddenly; then, he slowly leaned back, opening his legs to Raoul. The rustle of clothing seemed much too loud as Raoul fell forward leaning heavily on Erik. Honey colored tresses fell over Erik's chest as Raoul lay his head on a black clothed breast. Tentatively Erik wrapped his arms around Raoul. Knees on either side of the smaller figure. Minutes passed. No movement. Only the sound of the breathing of two would be lovers.

"So…this is alright?" Murmured Erik softly doubtingly. Raoul's head rose to meet Erik's gaze a cool composed look on his face as he tried to understand the seeming bipolar genius. The question confused the younger man for a moment. Then, suddenly it became quite clear. It was simple. _Them. Together_. Was it all right? He smiled warmly at the man opposite of him. So much like a child.

Raoul leaned up capturing the other man's lips in a gentle, chaste kiss. His answer was sweet to taste and soothing to the skin; it seemed so very honest as his lips slid effortlessly over Erik's. But, just to assure the music man Raoul placed his fingertips on each cheek, followed by his forehead on a soft chin.

"Of course, Erik." He muttered gently, sleepily. The physical exhaustion had finally reached his brain, triggering a switch within.

Erik sat for a moment contemplating the recent happenings; then, slowly rose from the floor bringing with him the fragile seeming man. He picked Raoul up, looking down at him with curiosity as he noted the youth wasn't as heavy as he thought, and made his way over to the large bed. Erik placed the exhausted Raoul softly onto the rumpled sheets and after a moment's hesitation, joined him. The dark haired man lay beside Raoul wrapping his arms around a previously unnoticed small waist loosely. Raoul sighed with a smile as he buried his face in the crook of Erik's neck. _Peace. Tranquility. _

The two drifted in to the land of darkness more currently known as dreamland. The note of love that had hung heavy in the air as a fermata turned swiftly to a crescendo.

**Lady DV:** Hate me...love me…just don't kill me! I had to do it…for the convenience of the plot…I hate an easy love story is all. I promise good smut though…I hope… I'm not sure if it will be really good…**But I WILL do it**! ER…R&R?? … How do you love bipolar Erik...I like him...He's yummy.../...can't help myself...I'm ashamed...

**Random Fact of the day:** Jaik is not a sadist no matter what you think. She is a masochist as can be told to you by Jaik's twin sister Nemo. (I am Jaik for those of you who haven't caught on…and it's Jaik as in JACK not JAKE!)


	7. You Lost at Sea, Do You Need Me?

**Lady Dv:** Hey everyone! I'm not dead yet! But, you can blame the wait on the stupid American school system, finals, college in general, my laziness, and the death of my old Pc. However I now own a new baby, my laptop, and have wonderful connection as well as beautiful new Microsoft Word! Yay! Love you all.

**Disclaimer-** I do not own any of Hugo's work…though I did see a wonderful rendition onstage!

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The soft morning darkness of the room was gentle on the features of both men. Even the hard porcelain of the mask, trademark of the opera ghost, was made into a simple rise and fall of features caressed by darkness. In this there was comfort for the sleeping Erik, his mind haunted by melody even in his sleep. He would compose as soon as pen could get into his hand…a crescendo, a soft tenor, a pulsing alto. His mind was in the half asleep state that comes as one readies to wake but pulls toward dreaming yet his real consciousness pulled toward his only other passion.

He felt the curve of waist meeting hip under his arm and the softness of skin on his chest, the shirt laying somewhere about the room where? Sometime in the night he had removed the shirt in question. His hand was buried in honey tresses soft as silk and the gentle human breathing he felt contrasting his…all so overwhelming to one usually denied human contact. Making it all even better was the awareness of the person in his arms being the one he wanted to be there. This was no lady of the night looking for a quick franc. This was HIM. _Satyr. Beauty. Raoul._

It was the rattling that woke him fully. If it had not been for that infernal rattling he would have slept peacefully for a few more hours. The night had been long for them both after all. Still the rattling had come and woken him with a start and he had quickly disentangled himself from his future lover. The man beside him woke with confusion on his lips and aggravation at such a rude shake into consciousness. Still he could say nothing as sleep muddled his thoughts and in this keen confusion Erik fond amusement. He wanted those lips…just once more.

"Erik…what-"His voice was cut off by a kiss placed gently over coral lips. A hand pressed against the nape of his neck holding him close to the other man. Then, it disappeared in a rustle of clothing. The rattling came once more. "Erik?" The voice was a whisper through the darkness.

"It will be Madame with breakfast for you. I must leave you now. Until next time my little dove." The goodbye was followed by another kiss to his lips the soft scrapping of a mirror moving. Then, before he realized it, he was alone in the room.

The slight scent of the Phantom…no Erik…his soon to be lover…. still on him, surrounding him. Yet, he was alone and he knew it. Still somewhere in the opera his Erik was thinking of him just as he thought of Erik. The thought brought a smile to him lips but nothing more as his mind was still exhausted. His body needed time to recover from everything. _Illness. Fatigue. Passion._ The softness of covers and the still warm side occupied by Erik only moments before. Raoul slid under the covers and snuggled into the scent of the other man. Truly he is my Phantom…truly… With these last thoughts his mind drifted off into something much like a dreamland a little unsettled at being alone but too exhausted to fight the grip of sleep. And the rattling had stopped.

-=-=-=-=-

Erik had tried to leave as quickly and as quietly as he could moving along familiar passages through the dim light of low burning candles. The raven haired man's mind was still more in the other realm, the one of sleep, than in the one his body occupied and he thought only of Raoul. No sense in letting Giry get ahead of herself on thoughts about their relationship until Raoul felt more ready to explain though; he was the one who dwelled with the regular mortals after all…well he was…now he was on both sides of the railroad tracks. Not to mention she would be horrified that he had flustered, to say the least, her patient before he was completely on his feet.

As his own home came into view his shoulders sagged and without any sort of shame he removed his shirt throwing it to the ground as he walked. When he reached the bed he slipped out of his shoes and gingerly removed the porcelain mask before placing it in a drawer filled with velvet beside the bed. It was not usual for him to sleep with the mask on his face, it irritated the tender skin beneath, yet he did not want Raoul to see him. He must at one point see the torn flesh beneath once again but not now…later perhaps.

Erik felt the sleepiness tug at his mind once more. He was by nature a nocturnal creature, though last night's sleep had been wonderful, and the inner clock he kept almost ritualistically told him it was time for sleep once more. The jet black covers he slid under were clean and smelled fresh…Giry's doing. He had only ever bought two colors for his bed's covers. Black and Red. The colors of passion and of ink. Like his music they were written into his mind.

He should have removed the clothing he was wearing in preference of sleeping clothing but his mind did not want any of it. His mind was drifting as he laid thinking of the man he had literally slept with the night before. The warmth of the body, the pallid skin, the softness of it…Dreams.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Madame Giry pulled a hidden lever in a cold stone hallway and slipped inside the Vicomte's room from one of the various passages leading up to it. The motherly figure had decided against using the regular passage for fear of waking the sleeping master of the Opera. She knew his habits almost as well as her own and he would surely be deep in the throes of a dream at this moment. She had indeed been carrying breakfast for the man within the walls she had trap door led herself into. It was boiling porridge, a peach cut down the middle, a bit of milk, bread, and juice. All of it still warm for him. It was her usual routine since he had fallen under her care. Breakfast left for him in the morning before she went to see to the dancers, lunch after the noon practice, and dinner before the opera began if he could hold it down.

He had never so much as locked the door though, in that there was a bit of childish foolishness as there were many in the Opera that would have liked to see him fall, but she made sure no one disturbed him. Still, it made her wonder what had compelled him to not only lock the door but also to make sure it wouldn't open at all. Erik wouldn't-No. Erik was over the jealousy and hate he had experienced. Christine was long gone after all…right? Still he had seemed anything but hostile when she had seen him with Raoul last…. yet with Erik one never knew. This Phantom of the Opera had quite the temper and it seemed the oddest things could soothe or fire it.

She placed the silver tray in her hands on a bedside table and turned to truly examine her patient. He did not look hurt. He was lying under the heavy quilted covers as he had been last night when she had left him. The young Changy was slightly on his side with his lips parted and his eyebrows smooth in relaxation. The only thing amiss was the white ribbon she had pulled his hair back with. It lay across the room. Raoul could not walk the distance without falling though and he was where she had left him. So… Oh well. If all was all right it did not matter all that much right?

The woman gently placed her hand over the man's forehead to check for a fever as he slept and after seeing he was fine she removed the hand and took his pulse as the doctor had taught her to do. All was alright in him it seemed. Just as yesterday. Well, she would leave his food with him and he would surely wake in time to eat it later as he usually did. She removed the chair that had been obstructing her way in and turned once more to look at the young man on the bed. All was fine though….still she would talk to Erik. Just in case.

-=-=-=-=-

Madame Giry did indeed talk to Erik asking him questions and watching him for signs of lies. He had not hurt, or attempted to hurt, the Vicomte. She was sure of that now. Still it was odd. A week passed and each day Raoul became stronger and soon he was able to leave his room for little intervals at a time. He watched the newest opera performed in the house, a piece by an unknown man from Vienna not a bad one but not wonderful, still he returned with a face flushed from excitement and cheeks rosy. From laughter perhaps?

Erik still maintained his brooding demeanor. He ate only after a lecture but he was composing once more.

He was composing more even than before, more than even with Christine, more than before…Raoul. The songs were filled with sobs no more, with tears yes but sobs no, one could not even tell if these were tears of sorrow or of relief but something inched toward relief. The gentle rolling of the notes. The spiraling entrances all set apart yet brought together with astounding chords in endless duets, quartets. Soprano, Alto; tenor, soprano; baritone, alto. Beautiful. Graceful. Like a certain Vicomte.

But that was Erik's little secret. His midnight strolls to the man's room as well…secrets. Still neither had made any move to finalize their togetherness. Not a relationship…their…they weren't sure…but it felt like more than that. It was more that simply a relationship, it was much more. A month. Two months. Three. Still no move. At times it reached the point where a simple step would topple the chessboard into one man's favor and both would sing the song of passion. But, Erik always paused and stepped back. Raoul always nodded patiently to himself and held on tight to the darker man. It seemed natural. Always this way.

The Vicomte de Changy's health was never truly restored. His arms could no longer grip as strongly. His body still tired easily and his mind often wandered more than was thought healthy. But he was there and Erik was there and at any moment they would say that was enough. No matter what. The world could tumble down at their feet and still they would rest their heads together and sleep. There was no farewell to their love no matter how it seemed to always lead to the same stop. The routes seemed infinitely different but the turnout was always the same. _Stop._

Months later they lay together in Raoul's bed just as they had what seemed like a lifetime ago…the night they had agreed. _This was alright_.

-=-=-=-=

"Erik." A voice was soft in the darkness as fingers caressed the neck of the darker haired man and a mouth worked almost lazily at it. It suckled and nipped playfully followed by pressure with a tongue yet without intent to mark or arouse only to fluster the older man.

"Mmm." The response was given through knitted eyebrows as hands scratched gently on a bare back leaving slight red markings behind that would be gone long before morning. Erik hadn't realized how truly sensitive his neck was until their many late night activities.

"When?" A simple question between the two lovers. Only they truly realized the meaning behind it, only they.

"Soon." The voice was no longer distracted by the ministrations of the younger as he had stopped to look up at the other Erik with earnest pale eyes.

"You said that last ti-"

"Why are you so intent on it?" The man interrupted and held the younger's eyes with his own darker ones.

They seemed to burn into Raoul for a moment and his lips dropped to be slightly opened before his eye lids dropped to half mast. The look left Erik a need for the lips and he delved into them with a passion before attacking the neck as well his hand gently pinching a nipple between his fingers.

"I-ah…I want all of you…hah...Eh-Erik." The groans that escaped Raoul in between his words did not impede the message from hitting home. Erik paused the kiss he had been delivering at a pale jaw and looked up at the man before him. His would be lover…only one act was left for him to be fully fledged.

Erik looked away and moved so he lay on his back beside Raoul leaving the other to lean on an elbow and look down at him. Though there was silence this was no awkward silence. It was a silence with a purpose. A thoughtful silence. Raoul had almost begged him so many times for it. A simple act that would bring the endless fermata to the crescendo of passion they both wanted but only one feared. There might be pain. There might be endless pain. There would be pleasure. He knew that. They both did. But he feared it…what if…what if…

"You truly want this, little Satyr?" The voice was soft as Erik pushed himself up and moved so he was straddling the honey haired youth.

"Yes." The answer held nothing of doubt. He wanted this. Raoul wanted this. He wanted this…yet he could not bring himself to do it…why. Raoul leaned up wrapping his arms around the man he once knew only as the Phantom of the Opera and kissed gently feeling the cool porcelain touch half his face as usual. It did not bother him…it was part of Erik.

"Well then, my young Vicomte. Perhaps I have made us both wait long enough. How long has it been?"

"Too long."

"Too long." Mimicked the raven haired man with a slight smirk to his lips letting his loose hair fall in a curtain around his face as he leaned down to kiss the man below him.

--=-=-=-=-=

**Lady Dv:** There ya go ladies and…ladies? As far as I know that is my audience (correct me if I'm wrong). I've decided there will be two more chapters in store for this story and after there will be me taking Requests. R&R or no 8th chapter for you!

**RFoD-** Though it took forever I updated!!!!!! Feed my muse! (His name is Tobias.) Request stories or give me ideas for my next story! Love all of you! Hope you haven't forgotten me!


	8. Do You Need Direction?

Lady Dv: Hello, Gentle Reader! It has taken much lack of motivation to make me not finish this story. But, now that I get back to it, I'm glad I did! :) I hope you enjoy the second to the last chapter. The last one is in the making.

Disclaimer: No, I don't own it…though if Hugo knew what I had done…he might want to rewrite it himself!

An excited groan left the paler man's lips as he arched toward his partner. He parted his lips, panting, as Erik looked him up and down and then leisurely licked the soft skin of his neck. Raoul thought that Erik had wanted to kiss him. Yet, the man known formerly as the Phantom of the Opera would have none of that. His dark tresses gently tickled the lighter man before him as he gently brushed his lips against a quickening pulse.

The bright candles, which had been illuminating the room in soft shadows, flickered as movement increased within the confines of the room. Raoul gasped and let his head fall back as the tantalizing touches of the darker man drew closer to the destination he desired. He felt the soft movement of lips at his collar bone, the instrumentally calloused hands teasingly moving an inch bellow his waistband and then upward. The smell of the other man, ink and spice and Erik, left him needy, frustrated.

"Erik!" Raoul pleaded to him urgently. He wanted the softness of a caress, he wanted the feeling of the other man around him, he wanted Erik, he wanted the Phantom of the Opera.

"Yes, my little dove?" The voice too was husky, teasing as if Erik was not aware of the wandering hands, the little gasps, and groans that escaped Raoul.

"P-please…ah!" Suddenly, Raoul's thoughts were interrupted as the teasing caresses became firm. One of Erik's hands rubbed the front of his pants in a slow rhythm while the other pinched lightly at a nipple making Raoul writhe in pleasure.

Erik smirked as the supple blond beneath him lost his self control. It was one of his favorite moments. When the self-restrained Vicomte finally allowed himself to become wanton, needy. This was a different need from the regular sexual tension. It was perhaps twice as heated. It made the blond demanding. It made him…incredibly sexy.

_Delectable even_, thought Erik as he eyed the man leisurely.

Every movement he made was graceful. Every teasing lick and gentle nip was slow, painfully slow for Raoul, as Erik gently lowered himself to the pale chest. Expert hands undid the laces at Erik's neck and impatiently tugged the shirt upwards. Erik lifted himself momentarily off of Raoul as the younger man lifted the shirt above his shoulders; he removed the frustrating article of clothing before throwing it toward some unknown corner. Suddenly, one of the candles blew out. Raoul lifted his head from the bed to look at the shirt lying next to one of the candles at his desk.

"Erik? I should-"

A loud moan resounded through the room as Raoul quickly forgot the fire hazard. The raven-haired man smirked as his tongue gently massaged a perky, pink nipple. Raoul's pale hands wove themselves into dark-as-pitch hair and urged Erik onward. The temperature in the once pleasantly cool room seemed to be on a steady climb as Erik's movements became less leisurely.

The so called Phantom of the Opera hungrily licked and nipped at Raoul's chest making sure to leave light marks around one nipple and then the other. His fingers, calloused and warm, found the laces at Raoul's hips and tugged. Slightly tanned hands rubbed the pale skin of Raoul's hips as Erik continued to move his teasing mouth lower on the younger man's body. The porcelain only added to the sensations as its cool surface contracted sharply with the heat of Erik's body.

The shadows grew as yet another candle extinguished this one for reasons unknown. Yet, the heightened darkness made Raoul's arousal grow in the way it softened everything in the room. Erik too was taken by this darkness as the taste of Raoul seemed stronger, the sound of his breathing seemed louder, and the warmth of his skin felt infinitely warmer. The soft, cotton sheets seemed all the more inviting.

The darker man nipped at the soft skin of Raoul's navel making him arch his hips in anticipation. Never had the blond felt so needy for a caress, never had Erik teased him to such a point. Erik's hands moved the soft brown breeches that Raoul had been wearing further down his hips making sure to kiss every bit of pale as sugar skin exposed. The lips found their way to hipbones, to thighs, to the place right above Raoul's manhood and yet, they avoided the aching center of the blonde's body.

"Erik… I want you…now!" The now impatient Vicomte de Changy demanded in between gasps.

A feline smile formed on the darker man's face as he lifted it to kiss the still demanding lips of his soon to be lover. His mouth moved, sensual, passionate, on the hungry lips of Raoul as his hands fully removed the breeches off of the younger man. The lighter man shoved his hips upward, turned over, and suddenly he had Erik lying under him. Erik lay dazed for a second and then looked up at Raoul, shocked to say the least.

Pale hands lay firmly on broad, tan shoulders as Raoul impatiently ground his hips against Erik. Raoul's naked flesh felt wonderful against the nearly naked man beneath him. He continued his grinding, moaning louder than he had in any if their previous encounters. His hands impatiently tugged at Erik's pants and though he was not as strong as he had once been he nearly ripped them from their owner.

"Ahh…" Erik let out a loud, breathy moan. Never had Raoul tried to take the upper hand in any situation. He was always content with being worshipped physically and emotionally by Erik. Never had Erik felt so wanted, so needy. Never…

The hot mouth that enveloped him completely eliminated all the thoughts that had been running through his head. The mouth moved slowly up and down while the warm, wet tongue pushed teasingly on the sensitive underside of his manhood. The moan that Raoul released around him made Erik buck his hips wanting more.

"Gods...Raoul..." Erik gripped his lover's hair and began a frantic grinding. The warmth that engulfed him was, incredible…_Seductive. Amazing. Raoul. "Ahh!"_

It was Raoul's turn to smirk as the man beneath him arched into him and came with a long, husky groan. Erik fell backward into the softness of the feather mattress, the softness of the sheets, and he pulled the softness of Raoul toward him. There was a comfortable silence in which there was no other sound than that of the slowing breath of the once brooding man. Raoul twisted around so that Erik was holding him against his neck.

"We aren't finished yet, are we?" Murmured Raoul seductively against the taller man's neck as he gently bit into it; then, he kissed his way up it toward Erik's ear and whispered hotly, "Are we?"

Erik sighed and then turned to look at the other man. In his eyes there was something feral. He smiled sweetly at the blond and suddenly pinned him to the bed. With his hands held above his head, Raoul wiggled his hips at the man formerly known as the Phantom of the Opera pursing his lips. But, when Erik dove down and kissed him he melted. Those same lips bit eagerly at his neck leaving behind red marks that would surely be bright bruises in the morning.

"No little satyr, we are not finished. Not even close." As if to emphasize this, Erik ground his hips against the other man to show him just how aroused he was once again and then he leaned down to start once more.

Lady DV: I always feel so devious leaving it like that. I guess the D in my name can take the form of that as well. R&R and I will love you!

RFOD: Imperian is the most amazing MOD on the net! Check it out .com


End file.
